


Never Return

by susieboo



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Backstory, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Frisk Backstory, Frisk Needs A Hug, Gen, Non-Binary Frisk, POV Second Person, Pre-Pacifist Route, Prequel, Reader Is Frisk, Sad Frisk, Transphobia, alcoholic parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susieboo/pseuds/susieboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You ask where they want to set up for the picnic. Your mother looks as if she's about to cry."</p>
<p>[Prequel. I assume pre-Pacifist but it doesn't really matter. Sad Frisk backstory feels. Brief transphobia mention, but nothing graphic. Oneshot.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Return

You grow up in a world that has already been torn apart by war. By the time you are eight years old, you are certain of only five things:

 

  1. Monsters will be sealed beneath Mount Ebott forever.
  2. You're not exactly what your parents wanted you to be. You never were. You've known that from the very start, but after you told your parents as much when you were six years old, told them you didn't quite feel like a girl or a boy, asking them what it meant, things got even worse.
  3. Your parents are always angry at you. You're not sure why.
  4. Your parents are always angry at one another, too.
  5. You weren't planned upon, and you weren't exactly a "happy accident", either.



 

You hear confirmation of the last one every time your mother crawls to the bottom of a liquor bottle to cope with her own misery. Your life is filled with a constant background noise of hateful, angry words. "Brat." "Disappointment." "Ungrateful wretch." "Leech." "Worthless." "Garbage." "Demanding." "Spoiled." "Whiny." All directed at _you_. You used to cry. You used to tell her these words hurt you.

 

You don't bother anymore. You've found that showing your emotions on your face - good or bad - only leads to trouble. So why bother?

 

You grow up on the edge of a large city, the legendary Mount Ebott visible from outside your window. Your house is small, and cold. Bills are perpetually stacked up on the table. You sometimes watch from the top of the stairs as your parents look at the bills, which always leads to more shouting. Always, the shouting. You wish you could help. You want to help. Maybe if you could, Mom and Dad would be happier.

 

Yes, you came into this world uninvited, unplanned. You always felt like you didn't really belong here, and yet... here you are. Always feeling like you're in trouble simply for existing, you live a closed-off life from everyone, from the other children at the school to your own family. Every day, you do your best to block out all the anger and hatred, simply sitting, staring out your window at Mount Ebott. It's miles and miles away, too far to walk - otherwise you probably would've attempted it long ago. You wonder sometimes what it'd be like to meet a real monster, the descendants of those that were sealed underground after the war. Or perhaps some are still alive. Your thoughts carry you away into an imagined world where you could meet a monster and ask it, until you're inevitably ripped out again by another harsh word, another sharp call of your name piercing the air.

 

One summer night, when you don't even have school to fill your days before you have to return home, you sit at your bedroom window as usual, the mountain visible against the cloudless sky. Downstairs, you hear Mom and Dad arguing - as usual. Bills - as usual. Even in your (relatively) innocent youth, you've noticed that expenses are piling up. The water in the bath stopped working three days ago, and the water stopped coming out hot five days before that. The normally-scarcely stocked refrigerator is now entirely bare. And just last night, you heard Dad on the phone, arguing with someone about rent. 

 

You try very hard not to be scared. 

 

Suddenly, the shouting downstairs stops, which is highly unusual. You creep towards your bedroom door, praying you won't get caught, and try to listen in, but all you hear are hushed, hurried whispers. You're sure you hear your name in there, too. Finally, your mother says, "...Fine. We'll take Frisk there tomorrow."

 

You try harder.

 

* * *

 

 

You wake up the next morning, wondering if perhaps the conversation you overheard was a dream. You go downstairs and see both your parents are already awake, looking very closely at you. Finally, your mother tells you to put on a sweater and get in the car. The three of you are going for a picnic at the foot of Mount Ebott.

 

You sit quietly in the backseat, trying not to read too much into the worried, stern glances your parents exchange, or into the fact that a family picnic has never been your parents' style. Everyone's quiet on the trip over, so much you feel like you're suffocating. You take a deep breath to remind yourself you still can, and gaze out the window at the beautiful mountain. Finally, after nearly two hours of driving, you arrive. You get out of the car, smelling the warm summer air, the scent of fresh flowers on the foot of the mountain. Your mother follows, carrying a large blanket and a small basket, filled with what little food you had left in the house. She's pale, and her eyes look sad, vulnerable. Your father's eyes are simply hardened, emotionless as they bore into you.

 

You ask where they want to set up for the picnic. Your mother looks as if she's about to cry.

 

The three of you sit near a patch of wildflowers at the foot of Mount Ebott, sitting on the blanket and sharing the limited food. You eat in relative silence, trying to enjoy this. Trying not to ruin it all. You tell yourself not to question a good thing. Maybe they just felt like being nice. Maybe you're worrying over nothing.

 

After nearly half an hour of almost total silence, your father announces he left the dessert at home, and that he'll drive back to get it. You try to say that that's okay, you don't need any, but the words get lost somewhere between your brain and your lips. Quickly - too quickly - your mother says she'll go with him.

 

You try to stand up to follow them, saying that you can all go back together, but before you can even get to your feet, your father says, "Sit down, Frisk." His voice is like shattered glass. You sit down.

 

"You just stay here until we get back," your mother says, stroking your hair, looking at you like she's just now seeing you for the first time. Maybe she is. "We won't be long. You can look around the mountain. Just stay here and play. Have a good time. Be careful, okay?"

 

You want to refuse. You want to say "no." You want to beg to go with them. You want to say, "Mommy! Daddy! Don't leave me here!"

 

You don't. You just nod, not saying a word. Just like you have your whole life.

 

The look on your mother's face as she gets into the car nearly cuts you in half.

 

One hour turns to two hours, and two hours turns to almost a full day. The sky has begun to turn pink and orange, the sun a glowing, red, sinking circle as it vanishes below the horizon. Your parents haven't come back yet. You've sat, patiently waiting, desperately hoping that your instincts are failing you, that they simply got a flat tire and are trying their best to come back and get you.

 

You decide to calm your nerves by climbing the mountain. Perhaps you'll be able to see their car in the distance from the top. Although legends say those that have climbed the mountain never return, you begin to grip onto the rocks and dirt, climbing slowly, carefully. You try to attribute your racing heartbeat and shaking hands to the idea of what may happen when you reach the top, but you're not really fooling yourself. You've been in a quiet panic ever since you got out of he car.

 

A combination of determination and luck allows you to reach the top within an hour and a half. Exhausted, limbs aching, you stand at the top of Mount Ebott, staring into the distance. You can't see the car, or your house. Everything looks the same from a distance. The same house repeated over and over, the same car the size of an ant, racing across the streets below. Nothing looks different. Everything looks like a copy of something else.

 

You step back to try and get a better view.

 

Big mistake.

 

You feel the ground disappear from beneath you as you stumble backward and trip over a root. A scream escapes you as you're plunged into darkness, watching the sky above you get smaller and smaller.

 

Wondering if this was the plan all along is your last thought just before you hit the ground, certain you're about to die.

 

* * *

 

 

You awaken with a throbbing headache and a slightly numb arm on a bed of yellow flowers. Blinking, you raise your head, looking around. You get only a bit of light from the hole in the mountain, now miles and miles above you. You can barely make out the flowers you're lying on, and footprints in the dirt ahead of you. It looks like a path has been made.

 

Of course. You're now in the monsters' domain.

 

You force yourself to your feet, shivering. You are frightened. You are alone. You are vulnerable. You have nothing for protection.

 

You have to get home.

 

Maybe it was terrible, but it's the only home you've ever had. You don't know what else to do, so you decide to just get home.

 

Somehow.

 

You take a deep breath and dust yourself off. Reaching for a stick on the ground to use for protection if needed, you swallow your fear as best you can, telling yourself it's time to be brave. You take another glance around.

 

_ The sight of such beautiful flowers in the bottom of the mountain fills you with **determination**. _

 

You set off on your way.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just my interpretation for how Frisk ended up on Mount Ebott to begin with. I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you leave some kudos or some comments!


End file.
